


Stages of Grief

by weatherflonium



Series: Metall/u/rgy [11]
Category: Metall/u/rgy
Genre: Current Events, F/F, Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5805601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatherflonium/pseuds/weatherflonium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tin is never sure how Lead handles her problems, but she's sure she wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stages of Grief

Tin took a deep breath, crossed her fingers, and knocked softly thrice on the closed door in front of her. She counted to five under her breath, and hearing no response, knocked again, harder and faster. After another count she slumped down, back against the door, with a long sigh. “I know you're in there.”

“I know.” Lead's voice answered softly through the door. “I don't want to talk about it.”

Tin shook her head to herself. “I know.” She sat by the door in silence, staring up at the pictures on the wall. “I just want you to know I'm here, if you need anything.” She smiled for a moment. “I don't get the chance to say that to you very often.”

The silence returned for several minutes, as Tin stretched and settled in against the door. Finally, Lead spoke again. “Are the girls-”

“Pewter's at Gold and Silver's, and Terne said Steel could pick her up soon.” Tin could hear Lead's sigh of relief through the door. “You're going to have to talk to them about this sometime.”

“How many times do I need to say 'I know'?” Lead grumbled.

“I'm just making sure.” Tin chuckled, hopefully loud enough for Lead to hear. “Besides, if I can annoy you, you're not too far gone.” Lead didn't say anything to that, but Tin just knew she was rolling her eyes. She smiled for a moment, and let the silence return.

Tin drummed her fingers against the floor, playing a solemn melody on an imaginary instrument. She'd seen Lead like this before, every time there was news of another contaminated product or industrial incident; Tin had tried to help, but in the end the best she could do was this: sitting outside a door, waiting for Lead to open up. The first times it had torn at her; the way Lead always effortlessly kept Tin in order, kept their life together, and then when Lead was the one who needed help, Tin didn't know what to do.

“It wasn't your-”

“Yes, it was.” Lead's voice snapped. “Of course it was my fault.” She heard Lead's voice drawing closer.

“B-” Tin started, only to be cut off.

“Because I was there, because of my work, people are sick, and people will die. Even those that live full lives will never be what they could have been.” Tin heard a loud slam and the door shook behind her. “You don't know what it's like, to know and feel everything that's happening, everything you're helpless to stop, _every time_. Is it _exclusively_ my fault? Is no one else to blame? No. Absolutely not. But if it weren't for me, those people would be living normal, healthy lives.” Tin heard another impact, weaker than the last. “I can't escape that.”

Tin slumped forward as soft footsteps slowly moved away from the door, away from her. She didn't have much left to say, so she found the beat and continued her song. Tin didn't like the slow, sad songs, but she wrote them all the same. Sometimes there was nothing else she could do.

* * *

Tin didn't know how long she stayed at that door, until she realised everything had gone dark; the late afternoon sun had slipped away, leaving only flickering streetlights outside to light the house. Tin knocked again on the door, but there was no response. She brushed herself off, walked over to their bedroom, and picked up a heavy down blanket. She walked back to the door and slowly slid it open, creeping quietly into Lead's large study.

Lead was slumped at her desk, her soft  breathing the only sound. Piles of papers and books on safety regulations, each bought that day and each now filled with bookmarks and densely-packed sticky notes,  made a maze across the floor, which Tin cautiously waded through, careful not to disrupt even one page . The large chalkboards which dominated the study were filled with complicated equations, angrily-scrawled technical jargon, and more than a few words Tin knew Lead would never say to anyone's face.

Circled on the central board were two simple sentences, written in a hasty hand with jagged, thick lines below.

_I can't escape this.  
I don't have to accept it_ .

Tin smiled and gently kissed Lead's forehead, draping the blanket over her shoulders, and slinked back out of the room. She pulled the door closed behind her and slid back down, feeling a new beat in her mental song. Maybe this one would be worth writing down after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd been wanting to write angsty Lead for a while, and then this happened.
> 
> The whole Flint crisis strikes home for me, since my uncle and his family used to live in Flint. Hell, I'd been to the city myself a few times as a kid for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Thankfully, they left a few years before the water switch, but it's still chilling to think what might have been. There's probably friends of my cousins who are still in the city.
> 
> Give money or water if you can.


End file.
